Dually Noted.

Yesterday, The Husband & I had our first official meal without the little guy.  We dropped him off at my aunt’s house for some extra cuddles (my cousins, their grandmother, my mother, and my brother, sister-in-law, and niece were all there).  I love him more than life itself; but boy, was it nice to have a little quiet time with my husband.

After we finished our desserts – apple cobbler for him, tiramisu for me – we headed to Walmart for an hour of adult shopping.  And what did we buy?  Christmas toys for the baby.  Even when he’s not with us, he’s always on our minds. 

Worth noting:  yesterday was the first time I’ve ever had tiramisu.  Oh, sweet jeebus, why didn’t anyone ever tell me about the decadence that is tiramisu?????  I have a killer headache today (probably from the espresso), but it was so worth it!

Friday morning, my brother & sister-in-law left their 8-month-old daughter with my parents for some early morning shopping.  I couldn’t believe it; but that was the first time they’ve ever been out without their little girl.  In 8 months, they’ve never once hired a sitter for a much-needed break or a night out.  I think she’s going to have some serious stranger anxiety when they are finally ready to leave her with a babysitter.

AND, they called my parents to check on her an hour after they left!  For pete’s sake, the kid was still fast asleep!!!  And on Thanksgiving, they wouldn’t let anyone else hold her – only the 2 of them – until my cousin finally managed to pry her away for 5 minutes.  But then my sister-in-law came & snatched her right back.  I don’t get it.  When we go to someone else’s house, I can’t wait to have them hold the baby to give me a little break.  Are we bad parents, because we’re happy to let someone else take over when the opportunity presents itself?

Anyway, I digress.  The other thing worth mentioning?  I think I finally solved the problem of Mason’s waking up when we lay him down.  He looooooves to fall asleep on us, preferably while snuggled in the rocking chair.  But every time we’d pry him off our chest & lay him down, he’d jolt awake as soon as his face hit the cool sheet.

Now, before we lay him down for the night, we stick a heating pad on top of the mattress for about 15 minutes before he goes to bed.  Just before we tuck him in, we pull the heating pad out of the bassinet & he stays nice & toasty.  Innovative, no?

Day by day, I think I’m getting a little better at this whole parenting thing.

Avoidance is best.

So, about that visit from the wicked hateful mother-in-law.  Oh, boy.  Where to begin?!?

She got into town about 8:00 Friday night, and I wouldn’t let The Husband take The Baby to the airport.  It was a whole, whopping 11 degrees out; and I didn’t want him exposed to the bajillion germs lurking around the luggage carousel.  Apparently, she was NOT happy about not getting to see the baby immediately, but I didn’t care.  The Husband took her out the The Olive Garden (her favorite restaurant), then dropped her off at her hotel.  He said her room was very comfortable, but that didn’t stop her from complaining about it.  Surprise, surprise.

Saturday morning, he took the baby and went to pick her up at her hotel.  The 3 of them did a little shopping, until Mason had a meltdown at the grocery store.  Apparently, she got so frazzled she walked out of the checkout lane without taking her purchases!  Oh, how I love that son of mine.

I spent Saturday shopping on my own, and enjoyed every last minute of it.  I hit the fabric department at Walmart & browsed to my heart’s content.  I munched on chocolate & peanut butter covered pretzels without listening to my husband complain about them.  I ate Taco Bell for lunch.  I puttered around the antique store for 2 hours.  I hit Hancock Fabrics and the new JoAnn’s Fabrics and Babies R Us, all without slinging a 13-pound baby and a 20-pound carseat.  I drank McDonald’s Coke.  I sang with the radio – Top 40 songs, instead of “If You’re Happy and You Know It, Clap Your Hands” 16 times.

And when my feet ached and I was sick of shopping, I drove around for 2 hours.  Because I didn’t want to eat dinner with that woman.  Isn’t that awful?  But she STARES at me while I eat, and makes little remarks about how I don’t hold my knife properly or how I don’t drink wine or how enormous our American portions are.

When I finally did come home, I said hello to her; but never asked how her flights were or bothered to make small talk.  Mason was SCREAMING his head off while she was holding him, so I scooped him up and he quieted right down & started giggling.  Under my breath, I promised to buy him a pony for his next birthday.

Fortunately, Dave brought home a huge stack of insurance paperwork for me to read over; so I hid up in the office for the rest of the night.  She tried to hug me before Dave brought her back to the hotel, but there was no way in hell I was going to kiss her cheek like she always expects.  Nuh uh.

Sunday was a disaster.  Dave took her out for breakfast, and I stayed behind with Mason.  When the 2 of them got home, I left to take my own mother shopping.  Unfortunately, she was in the foulest of foul moods, and completely ruined my 2nd baby free day.  She didn’t want to shop, and complained non-stop all afternoon.  Then, I took her to the casino for a little while, thinking it would cheer her up (she looooves to gamble).  We were there for all of 10 minutes, when she won $200 and declared she wanted to go home.  Now.

We had made arrangements to meet her 2 sisters for dinner, and she didn’t want to do that, either.  I planned on having a great afternoon of shopping, gambling, & eating; and she was having none of it.  So, I dropped her off at home & went to a park to read a magazine for an hour or so.  Defeated, I went home and holed up in the basement with my sewing stuff.

On Monday, my mother & I were supposed to head to the outlet mall about 90 minutes south of here.  They have a Carter’s baby store, & I was itching to get down there to find some goodies for Mason.  But my mother panicked at the 3″ of snow we got and bailed out at the last second.  This is going to sound awful, but I didn’t feel like driving all the way down there myself & sludging through a chaotic snow-covered parking lot without her convenient handicapped parking sticker; so I stayed home, too.

BUT, Dave took her wretchedness out for breakfast again, so I didn’t have to see her until around noon.  Then, we made an appointment for her to go to JCPenney with The Husband and The Baby for a generational photo.  I think I hammered my point home, when I told her I wouldn’t be accompanying them because I didn’t want my face to be blacked out on her pictures (she scribbled his last girlfriend’s face off of a photo, because she didn’t get along with her).

Then, they brought the baby home and went out for an upscale Chinese dinner – not buffet, just a really nice restaurant.  And she complained through the entire meal because she didn’t get a knife.  Not a thank you.  Not a compliment.  Just grumbling because she couldn’t hold her knife and fork “just so”.  Ugh.

While they were out, I slipped on the vinyl floor in our kitchen & wrenched my back; so I put the baby down & crawled into bed.  They sat up & watched the football game, until he brought her back to the hotel.

Tuesday morning, they again went out for breakfast; then he brought her back to the house so she could feed the baby one last time & say her goodbye’s.  And with that, they went off the airport & her visit was over.

A few things worth noting:

She asked if she could buy us an air mattress for Christmas, so she could stay at the house again next time.  Um, hello?!?!  There’s a perfectly good twin mattress in the baby’s bedroom and a futon in the basement.  Lack of sleeping options is NOT the reason you were in a hotel, Einstein.

The Husband took over 100 photos of her holding the baby.  He’s taken about 3 pictures of me with Mason since we brought him home from the hospital, 13 goddammed weeks ago.  Am I so ugly, I’m not worth photographing?  (I’m not fishing for compliments here, but it makes me wonder why my own husband would rather take photos of his mother than his wife.)

It was A LOT more work for The Husband this time, but all in all, it was a tolerable visit for me.  I spent about 2 hours total with her, and she wasn’t complaining about how early we go to bed or forever pestering us to make her a cuppa tea.  I never planned one activity for her; didn’t cook one meal for her; and didn’t take her for our annual thankless pilgrimage to the beauty salon.

Now, if she’ll only give up the idea of moving over here.

————————————————–

I mentioned this on Twitter, but if any of you know anyone who’s into beading, please direct them to my ebay auctions (my ebay ID is chubbymummies).  I’m selling off all my beads & supplies, trying to raise a little extra Christmas money.  The opening bids were pretty low – $49.99 on a huge lot of crystals and $19.99 on the other 3 lots of supplies.  The auction listings are:

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&item=160301098118

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&item=160301148266

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&item=160301303713

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&item=160301658254

Thanks!!

Thankful.

Have you been able to watch this sweet Pampers commercial without crying? Not me.

I remember watching it a few years ago, and bawling because I wanted one of those sleeping little angels so bad. And here I am, living this wonderful and crazy life, with my own little piece of heaven in the next room.

Mason is becoming, in a word, magical. The crying tantrums are getting less frequent and less severe, and the smiles & giggles are coming much more often.

Yesterday, on Thanksgiving, he turned 3 months old. Even though these 3 months have included some of the worst days of my life, I’m so grateful to have my beautiful boy.

I never wanted to admit it, but I think Dave and I had given up on having children. We never wanted to say it out loud; for fear that speaking the words would make it true. I remember Thanksgiving Day last year, when Dave was in South Korea and I was stuck next to my pregnant sister-in-law over my lonely turkey dinner. I was researching adoption, convinced it was the only way we were ever going to hear the squeals of laughter in our home.

I still can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’s ours. That I’m his momma, and the one who knows how to make him giggle and smile and rock him to sleep when he’s having a bad day.

There’s just so much to be thankful for.

No, Really. Reality Bites.

I’ve been composing blog entries in my head for the last five days.  Five freaking days, and I haven’t once had the opportunity to sit down and write any of them out.  The world is spinning too damn fast, and my head feels like it’s going to pop off and whirl around, like that charming little girl in The Exorcist.

Saturday night, Mason headbutted me so hard that he busted my top lip open.  Blood went gushing in my mouth, and it hurt like a futhermucker.  12 weeks old, and already he’s tearing me apart.

He’s been having a really hard time lately, which of course means we’ve been having a really hard time lately.  For the last 2+ weeks, we’ve had him on the Enfamil A.R. ready-to-feed formula; and he’s been tolerating it pretty well.  He’s been spitting up much less, and doesn’t seem to be nearly as gassy.  He’s still colicky and throwing screaming fits every night (without fail), but the antacid and the thicker formula seem to be making him happier during the day.

Until yesterday.  We ran out of the pre-mixed formula, and started using the powdered again.  I tried mixing a big batch in the blender & pouring it into bottles to conveniently keep in the fridge, but the blending action made it extremely frothy.  I tried giving him one of the bottles, and he screamed for a good hour after the bottle was empty.  Legs curled up, hands balled into tight little fists, spitting up copious amounts of thick, chunky goop.  Needless to say, the other five blender bottles went straight down the garbage disposer.

So, we’re back on the pre-mixed formula.  I figured it all out and it’s about $5.00 more a week; but I think it’s worth the extra $0.75 a day to keep the little one’s tummy happy.

$54.80 a week for formula.  $20.00 a week for diapers.  Fecking hell, babies are expensive.

And don’t even get me started on the $2,900 I had to pay in medical bills tonight, leaving me with another $900 in unpaid bills.  Happy holidays to us.  We’re broke.

And frustrated.  Sunday afternoon, we went to my parents’ house to watch the football game and scarf down some pizza.  I gave the baby to my dad; but the minute Mason started crying, dad passed him off to my mom.  She managed to quiet him down for about 20 seconds; but he soon started fussing again, so she passed him back to me.

What. The. Hell.  Aren’t grandparents supposed to be able to comfort the baby when he’s cranky?  Aren’t they supposed to help me out, when he’s overtired and grumpy and just wants to cuddle and cry it out?  I was so looking forward to an afternoon of not holding the baby for once; and somehow, I still ended up sitting in the corner, rocking him to sleep while everyone else watched the game and snacked away.

I think that’s been a very large part of my problem, while adjusting to motherhood.  I had this fantasy in my head, of what it was supposed to be like.  My baby was supposed to be quiet and awe-struck; not screaming his head off for 2-4 hours every evening.  My husband was supposed to come home from work and dote on the baby; not make me sit in the dark in the rocking chair, trying to calm him down every night AND make dinner AND clean up afterwards.  My parents were supposed to be loving, attentive grandparents who couldn’t wait to spend time with him.  Instead, my mother will only hold him if someone brings him to her; and they only babysit for 2-3 hours at a time when I beg them to, because that’s all they can “handle” when he’s having a crying jag.

I haven’t had any help at all for the last twelve weeks.  No one brought over any meals.  No one has popped over to babysit, so I could take a nap or read a book or do some little luxurious indulgence for myself.  No one helped me walk the floors or rock the baby at all hours of the day and night, while he’s screaming this shrill, almost inhuman, wail that makes me tremble with frustration.

And Dave tries.  Kinda.  I’ve told him a thousand times that Mason likes to be held on my shoulder, with his sleeves pushed up past his elbows, so he can suck on his arms.  Singing in the rocker, while rubbing his back or patting his butt in time to the chosen tune of the night.  Tonight, I walked into the nursery to find him cradling Mason sideways with his sleeves covering his hands, not singing to him, screaming his little head off.  I know he’s trying to find his own way of doing things…..but it’s so much easier to go with the tested techniques, isn’t it?!?

And I don’t mean to sound like I have a scorching case of “Poor Little Me” syndrome, because that’s not it.  I cried and wished and hoped and begged for this child, and I love him more than words can say.  But I can’t help but wonder when it gets easier.  When it finally stops feeling like I’m doing everything wrong.

We’ve had to cancel the baptism, scheduled for next Friday night.  I can’t remember the last time we had a “good night”, where Mason didn’t break down into a sobbing fit of colic.  It happens every night, and I’m now scared to take him out in public (he had a meltdown of epic proportions at the grocery store last week, and I swore I wouldn’t let that happen again).  I want his baptism to be a special event; and can’t bear the thought of him screaming his way through it, while my family looks on with pity and annoyance.  So, the whole thing is off.  I’m hoping to reschedule it in February, just in time for stranger anxiety to kick in.  Hooray!!

And speaking of anxiety, her wretchedness arrives Friday night.  My goal is to avoid her for her entire visit (she leaves on Tuesday); but I don’t think that will be possible.  She’s staying at a nearby hotel, and I don’t want Dave to have to bundle up the baby to take her home at night.  Because you know, she’ll insist on staying until midnight every night, just to prove she can.  I didn’t invite her (in fact, I made it perfectly clear that I didn’t want her here); so I feel no obligation to spend any time with her.  She may be Dave’s mother and Mason’s grandmother; but I feel no connection to her whatsoever.  There have been too many hurtful things said to repair our “relationship”, and I refuse to be baited into an uncomfortable confrontation.  Even though I asked her to back off, she’s pushing Dave to force me to see her.  Why?  Why can’t she just give me the distance I want from her?  Why does she insist on interfering in my life?

She’s going to make thinkly veiled insults, telling me I look tired, but good; even though I haven’t lost the baby weight yet.  She’s going to ask if I enjoy being home with Mason, since I’m not contributing to the family income.  She’ll bring up things from the past, call me a sore loser, roll her eyes or make a snide remark when I remind her again that I don’t drink.  And when I call her on it or say anything back, I’m cheeky and rude and “just so American”.  As if that’s the worst thing in the world.

I just want to remove myself from the situation and let it go.  Let it all go, and get on with my life.

Cleaning the Closets.

I got a little teary-eyed today, packing up Mason’s newborn sleepers and clothes to put into storage.  And those hats!  Oh, dear, those delicious little baby hats.

He doesn’t own one, single pair of shoes.  Is that weird?  He’s perfectly happy to wear socks (even though I’d love nothing more than to keep him in jammies with feet ALL DAY LONG).   It’s not like he can spend any time outside.  These horrible, rainy, 35-degree-days are keeping us tucked warmly in our rocking chair.  Is there anything better than snuggling with a sleeping baby under a warm, fluffy blanket?  I think not.

I also ordered one of these Kiddopotamus car seat cover thingies from ebay.  LOVE IT!!!  It’s so much easier than fighting those wiggling arms & legs into a windsuit or a snowsuit.  If you have a baby & live in a cold or snowy climate, order one.

Mine is blue, and you can also order them from Amazon.

Gotta run…….baby is crying.  Again.  Happy weekend, party people.

Babble On.

My stupid finger is still really sore.  The chunk of skin is starting to dry up (yeah, yeah, TMI), but the cut area is still too raw to go without bandaging it.  I can’t find a definitive answer on “wound care” anywhere.  Are you supposed to cover up a cut with a bandage, or leave it open to dry?????  I’ve been slathering on triple antibiotic cream before bed, leaving it covered all day, then leaving it open for a few hours at night.  It’s not infected, but it stings if I bump it.

And typing the above paragraph took 45 minutes, because every other keystroke is the backspace button.  Stupid sore finger.

I’ve been forcing Mason to take a nap every afternoon, and he seems to be a tiny bit less cranky in the evening.  Although holy Toledo, Batman, does he fight it.  He screams his head off when I lay him in the bassinet, but conks out within 15 minutes and sleeps for at least 60 minutes.  I think this is a preview of what bedtime will be like in about 3 years.  “I DON’T WANNA GO TO BEYEAH-YEAH-YEAH-YEAH-YEAH-YEAH-YEAH-YEAH-YED!!!!!”

I’ve spent about 20 hours scouring recipe websites, and can’t find anything remotely appealing.  Everything has too much salt, the directions are too complicated, or the ingredients are too freaking expensive.  I’d love to find some budget-friendly recipes that are easy to make and taste good.  Without containing the dreadful “Cream of” soups that contain so much sodium, my arteries harden just reading the label.

My dreadful mother-in-law arrives next Friday.  She’s only in town until Tuesday, and I’m tying to plan activities to get ME out of the house.  I have an all-day shopping trip lined up for Monday, but I need to make plans for Saturday & Sunday.  I don’t want to see her.  I didn’t invite her, and would rather clean toilets at a Diarhhea’s Anonymous meeting than spend 5 minutes with her.

She’s already insisting that we can’t call her Gramma; we have to call her “Gran”.  Why?  Why does she need a special nickname??????  I know I’m being petty about this; but she’s done nothing but insult & criticize me whenever she’s been here.  I shouldn’t have to do anything to bow down to her inferred superiority.  Ugh.  She doesn’t arrive for 9 days, and I’m already on edge about it.  Dammit.

On a happier note, I found this adorable rocket at Sam’s Club, and I think I’m going to ask my parents to buy it for Mason for Christmas.  It’s only $40.78, and I think he’ll be using stuff like this next summer.  Isn’t it cute?

And finally, congrats to Colleen at Cyberblue, who had her little guy on November 10th; and Erin at Evil Clomid, who’s going in for an induction tomorrow (Thursday)!!!  May the arrival of your little ones fill your heart with love…

Roll Over, Beethoven!

Holy crap.  Mason just rolled over, front-to-back, on our bed.  We flipped him back over onto his tummy, and he did it AGAIN!  I’m so happy we were both home to see it, too.

Updates are going to be really light & sporadic for a few days.  I holed up downstairs yesterday to cut a bunch of fabric squares, and sliced part of the tip of my left index finger off with a rotary cutter.  Then today, I went back down there to clean things up, and sliced my right index finger just above the knuckle.  Dave threatened to remove all sharp implements from the house, and we now refer to the rotary cutter as “The Wheel of Death”.

I’ll be back when I can type more.  Until then, try and keep all your digits intact (and I’ll do the same).

Unreliable.

Have you ever had one of those days, where you realize the only person you can truly depend on is yourself?????

I had to take Zoey to the vet’s this morning, to get her annual round of shots.  Rabies, distemper, tetanus, the whole nine yards.  Because it’s almost impossible for me to get anywhere on time these days, I asked my mother to come with me (so she could wait in the running car with Mason while I zipped in & out of the office with the dog).

My appointment was for 10:00.  At 9:15, the phone rang.  “Kris, I can’t come with you.”  Fake cough fake cough fake cough.  “I have to go the doctor.  I don’t feel good.  I think I’m getting pneumonia or something.”  She was fine on Wednesday, but thinks she’s developed the black plague since then.  Did I mention my mother is a hypochondriac?  She thrives on the attention the doctors & nurses give her, and goes to some form of a physician at least once a week.  Yeah, Medicare is losing money on her myriad of submissions.

Anyway, I finished feeding Mason, schlepped him into the car seat, loaded up the dogs, and headed for the hills.  Everything went fine, except for the part where the baby started screaming as soon as I opened the door to the vet’s office.  I set the car seat on the floor, and went dashing back outside for Zoey.  By the time I came back in, the receptionist had taken him out of the car seat (without asking first!), and was carrying him all around the office.  I honestly don’t mind that she was holding him – I would have gladly handed him over – but don’t you think she should have asked me first?!?

She brought us into an exam room, then disappeared with the baby.  Zoey freaked out. She went running in to the hallway to see where that crazy lady went with Mason.  As soon as she couldn’t see him, she went thundering through to the front of the office, and actually grumbled a little at the receptionist.  Apparently, the old girl does not like strange people to handle “her baby”.  It’s good to know that my 120# ball of fluff would take down anyone who tried to mess with my kid.

After we got home, Dave called to say that my father invited him to check out a game farm tomorrow morning.  He’s thinking of joining, and wants a second opinion on whether it’s worth the annual fee or not.  Normally, I’m glad to get him out of my hair……….but he promised to watch the baby ALL WEEKEND so I could hang out downstairs and get some more sewing done.  And then he had the audacity to suggest that I could say no.  Yeah, right.  Then I’d have to listen to both him AND my father complain about how I never let him have any fun.  This after he went to his buddy’s house to check out some beer brewing equipment (with samples) after work tonight.  And he met an old friend of his for happy hour on Wednesday night.

I sit home with the baby day after day after day.  If I need to go anywhere without him, I beg my parents to watch him for me.  They don’t mind doing it; but it always has to be both my mom and my dad, because my mom can’t carry him from one place to the other.  Hell, she can’t even get out of the chair when she’s done holding him.  Ever since she had her hip replacement surgery, she doesn’t pick up her feet and shuffles along on the carpet like her feet are made of cement.  And she has minor tremors in one of her hands, so there’s no way I can trust her to carry him.  If *I* want to go anywhere, I have to plan well in advance (and half the time it backfires on me anyway, like today at the vet’s office!).  If he wants to go anywhere, he goes.

I feel like I have the same stupid complaints over and over and over, but I honestly don’t know how to change things around here.  One step forward, six steps back.  If I say no, he can’t go; then I’m the bitter, controlling ball and chain who never lets him have any fun.  But I’m miserable, because I can’t depend on him to give me a break (even when he promised he would).

I used to think my mom was crazy, when she bitched about how she was being taken advantage of.  My dad always provided for us; and as a kid, I always thought that should have been enough.  But now I know exactly how she felt.  Trapped.  Resentful.  And completely unappreciated.

I don’t know, maybe I’m the crazy one.  But I’ve never felt this alone in my entire life.  I don’t have any close friends, and there’s no way I could leave the baby with anyone else while he’s still in this horrible colicky phase.  I know he’ll be through it soon enough, but I need some time to myself NOW, dammit.

Okay.  Done complaining.

Does anyone use Nestle Goodstart formula?  I have 2 coupons (one is for $11.00 and the other one is for $1.00 off).  And I also have a $5.00 off coupon for Similac.  They both have my name pre-printed on them; but I know Walmart accepts them, no problem.  If you want them, e-mail me your mailing address to Kris [at] chubbymummy.com, and I’ll pop them in the mail. Also, if you have any Enfamil coupons you don’t need, I could use them.

Finally, I finished the baby blanket tonight.  Is it perfect?  Nope, but it’s pretty cute.

Folded up, ready to go:

Showing the backing (the brown/tan paw prints), against the front:

And the whole thing (it’s 32″ x 42″):

See it larger here:  Full Size Quilt Pic

I’m thinking of putting it on ebay, just to see if there’s any interest.  I know etsy works, and there’s always the porn empire of craigslist.

I wonder if I’d be arrested if I put the baby ON the blanket, and tried to sell them both.  Sort of a 2-for-1 deal, if you please.  Or better yet, I’ll have the husband hold the baby wrapped up in the blanket, and advertise all 3 for one low opening bid.  I might even throw in some power tools, if the price is right. 

Just the facts, ma’am.

From the doctor’s office yesterday, for Mason’s 2-month checkup:

His weight = 12 pounds, 3 ounces.  In the 65th percentile.

His length = 24″.  In the 75th percentile.

His head circumference = I can’t remember, but it’s only in the 35th percentile.

My son is going to be tall with a huge butt and a little head.  Basically, he’ll be Mr. Potato Head.  Hahahahahahaha.

All kidding aside, the doctor said he’s thriving.  He has the upper body strength of a 4-6 month, and she too believes he’ll be crawling sooner rather than later.  When we set him on the floor on his tummy, his arms and legs just go go go; so it’s only a matter of time until he coordinates the movements and he’s zipping around.  Yikes!!!

She couldn’t get over how strong his head & neck muscles are.  When I have him up on my shoulder, he’s forever looking around to see what’s going on.  One of these days, he’s going to lean back too far & one of us is going to drop him.  I know it’s going to happen … I just hope it isn’t while I’m holding him.

Also!!!  She agreed to start him on prescription Zantac.  1ml twice a day, to see if it helps with the violent spitups and stinky curdled milk that comes back up.  I gave her the lowdown on the umpteen formula changes; and she agreed that since he’s in pain, it’s time to try something else.

And she’s against putting cereal in his bottle at such a young age; but said we could keep doing it, as long as it wasn’t more than 1 teaspoon in every 5 ounce bottle.  She went on & on about how it will get better when we start him on solid foods (duh!), but that won’t happen for another six weeks or so.  Until then, fingers crossed that the zantac will help ease some of his tummy troubles.

Finally, she guaranteed that his colic will start getting better around his 3 month birthday.  God, I hope so.  We’ve started calling 3:00 the witching hour, because it’s usually when the screaming starts.  By 5:00, I’m worn out.  By 6:00, I’m crying myself.  And by 7:00, he’s finally starting to quiet down.  During the morning, he’s all smiles and giggles and oh-so-much-cuteness; but in the late afternoon, I want to strap him in his carseat, put a “Free to Good Home” sticker on him, and leave him at the end of the driveway.

I’ve sang “This old man, he played one, he played knick-knack on my thumb” so many times, I can hear it in my sleep.  I’ve gone from “99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer” to “1 bottle of beer on the wall” so many times, I could open my own tavern.  And I’ve wailed “the wheels on the bus go round and round” so many times, Goodyear is going to start endorsing me.  I can’t wait for that magical 3-month mark.

Neither can the neighbors.

Looking Uppish.

So, first of all, thanks for all the kinds words after Saturday night’s debacle.  After I wrote all that out and regained my composure, I went and told Dave I wanted out.  I was tired of him not trusting me and second guessing everything and generally questioning all the maternal instinct out of me.  I also said I didn’t love him or the baby, which isn’t true; but I was so angry and hurt, and I wanted him to feel the burning sting of shame for once.

By Sunday afternoon, the worst of the storm had passed and I settled down.  Sort of.  Did I mention that I’m back on birth control pills, and my period started on Sunday?  As in my first post-delivery, my-hormones-are-still-kinda-effed-up kinda period.  I’ve always had PMS, but I think it hit me extremely hard Saturday night and I completely lost it.

So, we talked it out and he has been trying to back off and give me some space.  How long will it last?  Your guess is as good as mine.  But how could I have thought about giving this up?

Then, I looked at going back to work part-time, just to get out of the house and make some extra money.  Our finances are sinking, and the lease is up on Dave’s truck next June.  Because he didn’t listen to me and buy outright (rather than leasing), we’re going to have a car payment for at least another five years.  This after paying $432/month for the last 5 years, with absolutely nothing to show for it in the end.  Grrrrrrr.

Anyway, the job market in Wisconsin is pretty bleak; but there were a few part-time bookkeeping jobs listed in the paper and on the jobseeking websites.  However, I don’t have a college degree, which limits the amount of jobs I’m “qualified” and able to apply for.  I have 12 years of experience running a small manufacturing business with my dad and supervising 14 employees; but it doesn’t matter because I didn’t take the time to get a degree.

But really, in the end, the degree doesn’t even matter.  The highest paying jobs were $15/hour, working 20-30 hours per week.  Now, I’m good at what I do and know I could get all the accounting work done in 20 hours each week; which means I’d be earning $300.  After taxes, I’d be lucky to take home $175.  I did some research, and daycare for an infant runs $160 a week.  By the time I pay daycare and $40 a week in gas, I’m already spending more than I’d earn!  And that doesn’t even include the additional expenses for meals on the go and updating my wardrobe.

It’s just so depressing.  I’m going to go crazy if I stay home with Mason every day; but we don’t have the extra money in the budget for me to join a gym.  And we live out in the country, so every trip into town costs a minimum of $10 in gas.  I know it doesn’t sound like much, but *poof* you blink your eyes, and my gas tank and our checkbook are empty.

So, I’m thinking about whipping up a bunch of handmade baby blankets, and trying to sell them on either Ebay or Etsy.  I started this one for Mason before he was born, and finished it on Saturday.  I’m not 100% happy with it – I didn’t put a border around the edges, and wished I would have; but I do like the color choices and the way it turned out.

And here’s Mason modeling it.  He’s thrilled (can’t you tell???).

I haven’t had a chance to research it yet; but how much do handmade quilted baby blankets sell for?  It’s not as fancy as some of the heirloom ones out there, but it’s cute and warm and snuggly.

So, that’s my latest brainstorm to make some extra Christmas kaching.  Any thoughts or suggestions?

With that, I’ve gotta run.  Mason has his 2-month appointment, with the first major rounds of shots.  I’m anticipating a very cranky afternoon.

And if you haven’t done so already, get out and vote!  Did you know women have only been able to vote in Federal elections since 1973?  Today, it seems unimaginable.